Taking Pot-Luck
by MsBarrows
Summary: Pepper talks Tony into having a small pot-luck supper for the Avengers and their friends rather than throwing an extravagant Christmas party. This was originally supposed to be finished for entry in Feelstide 2014 back in November. Oops!
1. Prologue

_This was supposed to be the first of two stories I was writing for Feelstide 2014, but with just days to go before the final deadline for the first story, my writing brain went missing (probably holiday stress, ugh). I've been meaning to finish and post it ever since, and this week finally sat down and wrote the last chapter and a half of it. Enjoy the angsty fluff!_

* * *

"No, look, it'll be super-easy," Tony said, turning and walking backwards for a few steps, hands waving around as he spoke. "All the Avengers and a whole pile of our friends, I'll have the thing catered..."

"_No_, Tony," Pepper cut him off, giving him The Look, the one that said he was getting far too grandiose with his plans again and she was more than ready to cut them down to a more reasonable size. "I said I want a _small_ Christmas party. Just the Avengers and our _actual_ closest friends, not a couple hundred of your random acquaintances and assorted frenemies who want to be able to brag later about how they got to rub elbows with super-heroes for an evening. Here, in our own living room, not at some oversized and overpriced venue. A couple dozen people, if that."

"Almost not worth hiring caterers for such a small event," Tony grumped.

"_Good_. I'd rather we didn't, actually... I was thinking it would be nice to do something more... more friendly... more homemade. Like a pot-luck supper."

"A pot-luck?" Tony asked, looking startled. "I've heard of those. Isn't that when you invite people over and expect them to bring their own food? I've never understood the point of that..."

"Yes, a pot-luck, Tony. It's the sort of thing normal people do, and the point is it gives everyone a chance to make something special to share with all their friends. I was thinking I'd ask Jarvis to coordinate it, he can make sure that everyone is bringing different things and that we don't end up having five salads and no entrees or anything like that."

"Will I have to cook something?" Tony asked, looking worried.

Pepper stopped, and smiled warmly, reaching out to catch his hand. "I know you're not a particularly good cook. Or any cook at all, really. Don't worry about it – we can count the free bar as your contribution, or maybe you can cater the appetizers."

Tony looked relieved, and unconsciously drummed the fingers of his free hand against his chest, a nervous habit that the removal of his arc reactor hadn't changed in the least. "Okay. I can do that. So... a pot-luck Christmas dinner party? On Christmas itself, or some time earlier?"

"I was thinking a day or two before, that way we don't have to be worrying about it on Christmas Day itself, and those of us with real family elsewhere won't necessarily have to choose one over the other. Not that _that_ would cut down very noticeably on the guest list," she added, looking momentarily saddened.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, not much family between the six of us... I think Clint has an older brother in prison somewhere, but apart from that and Thor's father the Avengers are all pretty much without close family. And depressingly short on friends, too, though at least we mostly share them all with each other... though I'm not sure if that's a pro or a con. Damn but we're an incestuous little group, aren't we?"

Pepper gave him a wry smile. "I suppose we are," she agreed.

In the end Pepper decided against officially calling it a Christmas dinner; their circle of friends was diverse enough that she doubted everyone in it celebrated the holiday under that name. Especially given that their group included people like Thor, who was most definitely non-Christian, and Natasha, who'd grown up without any real exposure to religion at all.


	2. Thor

"How about these?" Jane asked, picking up a small green plastic punnet of berries and offering them to Thor.

He took the basket and sniffed at it, then grinned as he recognized the bright red berries within as something he'd encountered on a visit to earth several centuries earlier. "These will do very well," he said approvingly, looked thoughtfully at the basket to judge its size, and did some rapid mental math. "Four baskets of this size should be enough." He looked around for Darcy, who had their shopping cart, and spotted her a couple of rows over, piling some selections of her own into it.

"Check it out, Jane," Darcy said happily as the two caught up with her and placed their baskets of berries into the cart. "They have those huge Japanese pears I like."

"These are pears?" Thor asked, surprised, picking up one of the globular fruits, one almost as large as his own fist. The fruit was very firm, without any of the give to its flesh that he'd have expected from a ripe pear.

"Yeah, a special kind. Remember the watermelon we had this summer? They're kind of watery like that, but firm-fleshed, like a green apple."

"Interesting," he said, then put the fruit back down. "I need pears for the tarts I'm making, but not this kind."

"They have Anjou and Bartlett pears as well, among others," Jane said, pointing, and Darcy pushed the cart further down the aisle, stopping it in front of a different section of the display, one heaped with pears of varieties that looked much more like the pears he was familiar with.

By the time he'd found all the different sorts of fruits and berries he needed for the filling – or at least decided which Midgardian ones would be acceptable substitutes, since such things varied greatly among the Nine Realms and none of the varieties he was used to were available here – their cart was almost half full, both Jane and Darcy having insisted on adding extra things to it. He ended up purchasing several varieties of flour, since he wasn't sure what kind would be closest to the type used in Asgard, and his attempt to describe the soft cheese used in making the rich pastry dough he had in mind led to Darcy insisting on picking up three different kinds of cheese, which she described to him as cream, ricotta, and cottage, as well as some yogurt which she said they could strain to make a fourth kind.

"I can always turn it into some sort of dip to contribute to the party if it's not what you need," she said as she placed a large tub of it into the cart. "Oh! Chips. We need potato chips," she said, and zoomed off to go add more things to the cart, Jane trailing along after her and saying they should also obtain the ingredients to make nachos once they got home to their apartment in the tower.

It was a fun evening in, the three of them eating nachos and quesadillas, Jane and Darcy watching while Thor set about testing the various cheeses and flours by making small batches of dough. It was late evening before he finally decided on which combination of ingredients came the closest in taste and texture to what he remembered from the times when Frigga, craving her favourite dessert from her own long-ago youth on Vanaheim, had claimed a table in the castle kitchens and had Thor and Loki help her in making the fruit-filled tartlets. It was a long time since the three of them had last done so – centuries, at least – but he remembered the tarts as clearly as if he'd eaten one just a day or two ago, still remembered how the dough should feel as he worked it, the taste and smell of it and of the sweet filling of mixed chopped fruits and whole berries. He regretted having outgrown that closeness, time spent in martial practise and out in the field with his friends having eventually grown more important to him than a few pleasant hours spent in the kitchens with mother and brother.

The next day he began work on making the tartlets, first mixing up a large batch of the dough and putting it in the fridge to chill while he washed, peeled, and chopped the various fruits and berries, combining them in a large bowl with honey and spices to make the sweet filling.

Jane and Darcy came back from the lab for a late lunch to find him seated at the kitchen table, staring disconsolately at the array of muffin tins full of unbaked tarts spread out before him, a mound of unshaped dough on a cutting board in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Jane asked, taking in his expression.

Thor frowned, trying not to let how upset he was feeling show. "It's... I tried to decorate the tarts," he explained, voice low. "The dough needs to be shaped and assembled into leaves and flowers over top of the filling. I used to help with that when I was younger, but..." he stopped, flexed his hands, and forced himself to look up at Jane and smile. "My hands are a warrior's hands. The mixing of the dough or the blending of the filling, shaping and filling the tarts, I can do all of that quite well, but crafting the dough into decorations for the top... that takes nimble fingers. Mother and Loki..." he stopped, turning his gaze downwards again, unable to continue, his smile flattening into a tremulous line. Jane stepped closer, leaning down to wrap her arms comfortingly around his shoulders and kiss his temple.

"I miss them," he managed to admit. "I miss them both so much."

Jane held him while he fought back tears. He hadn't even noticed that Darcy had left until she returned some minutes later, rushing into the room and noisily dropping several round tins onto the table beside the cutting board.

"I got you covered, big guy," she said firmly, and picked up one of the tins, showing him the illustration of flower-shapes on its lid before popping it open and dumping out its contents. "See? Little flower-shaped cookie cutters. And one of leaves, and butterflies, and playing card symbols... all you gotta do is roll out the dough and then we can go to town with cutting out shapes and making the decorations out of them. Will that work?"

Thor stared at the growing mound of cutters, and found a real smile lifting his lips. "It will work very well," he agreed, rising to his feet and reaching for the rolling pin he'd used in making the pastry shells earlier in the day. "Will you two stay and help?"

"Of course we will," Jane said, and stayed at his side while he rolled out some of the dough.

The rest of the assembly went quickly, and with much laughter, as Thor rolled out the dough and all three of them wielded the cutters. Jane and Darcy deftly layered together cutouts of leaves and flowers and other shapes on top of the tarts, pinching or stretching each bit of dough to give it a more sculpted shape than the flat cutouts. The end result wasn't the same as the fantastical, detailed creations that Frigga and Loki would have crafted, in that long-ago time when he and his brother had still been young and relatively innocent, but the feeling of warm friendship and the laughter and smiles they shared as they worked were much the same.


	3. Bruce

Bruce leaned on the counter, slowly turning pages in the stained and water-warped cook book resting on the counter and frowning slightly as he skimmed each recipe. After a while he sighed, closed the book, and began to pace back and forth, lost in thought.

"Jarvis," he finally said after a while.

"Yes, Dr Banner?" the AI asked. "How may I help you?"

"I need... a phone number. Or an email address. For someone I lost contact with a long time ago."

"Certainly. Can you tell me some identifying information about the person in question?"

"Yeah. Her name is Jennifer Walters... or was, she may have married and changed it since we were last in touch. She's my cousin; her mother was Elaine Banner, her father is William Morris Walters, both of Los Angeles. I haven't seen her in over a decade, since shortly after her mother died, when she was still just a teenager. Is that enough information?"

"It should be," Jarvis agreed, followed by a brief pause while he presumably did some searches. "I have narrowed it down to four possibilities. Do any of these women look familiar?" he asked, displaying four photos.

Bruce turned and looked at the display, then blinked, a slight smile lifting his lips. "Yes. Bottom left photo. That's her," he said.

Jarvis silently cleared the other three photos, expanding the indicated one to fill the screen. "Jennifer Walters, a district attorney working in New York. Would you prefer a phone number or email address, and for home or personal use?"

"Um. I don't know..." Bruce said, hesitant now. "I don't think I want to contact her through her work, but knowing her home number or email would be kind of... creepy? Maybe?"

There was another brief pause before Jarvis responded again. Not a pause the AI would have actually needed, but he was very adept at judging the proper pacing of conversations to seem as human as possible, Bruce knew. "She appears to maintain several home email addresses, one of which is publicly available through her Facebook profile and is listed as an after-hours emergency contact method on her business cards. Perhaps if you attempted to contact her via that one?"

"Oh. Yes, that would be perfect. Thanks, Jarvis."

"Adding it to your contacts list," Jarvis said, his voice warm.

Bruce sat down and quickly typed out a brief email, keeping it as detached as possible, merely naming himself, saying he was looking to reconnect with his cousin and was checking to see if that was her, and ending it with contact information for himself, both a private email address and his personal phone number.

He went back to the kitchen to resume looking at recipes, and was startled when his land line phone rang less than ten minutes later, while he was busy calculating how large a turkey – or more likely turkeys, plural – he'd need to roast to be sure of having enough for all the Avengers and their super-sized appetites, not to mention however many friends also were invited to the dinner.

"Bruce speaking," he said, after lifting the receiver of the phone.

"Bruce? Hi. It's Jennifer," a female voice answered.

"Oh my god," he said, and had to stumble the couple of steps to the nearby table and take a seat, overwhelmed by memories at the sound of her voice. "_Jennifer_. It's really you. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm good. God, Bruce, how are you? I haven't heard from you in... what? Ten years?"

"Closer to fifteen I think," he said, throat closing with emotion. "A couple of years after your mother died. You were..."

"...nineteen. I remember, that was the gap year I took off to try and decide what field I was going to go into, and when I got back from backpacking around Europe I stopped and stayed with you and... Betty?"

"Yes, Betty Ross. At Culver University. Until you had to go home..."

"To spend Thanksgiving with my dad," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice at those words. "And then a few months later... what _happened_, Bruce? All we heard was that there'd been a terrible lab accident, and that you'd disappeared..."

Bruce gave a short bark of laughter. "A lot happened. Not something I want to talk about over the phone. Though I would really love to see you in person again some time, and catch up on everything. You're a lawyer now?"

"Yeah," she agreed, voice warm. "I'm working as a District Attorney in New York City. And I see this is a local phone number you sent me...?"

Bruce laughed. "Yes, I'm in New York too. I live and work in Manhattan, mostly."

"Only mostly?" She sounded amused.

"Well. Sometimes my work takes me elsewhere. And some of the time I just need to get away and be on my own for a while."

"I hear you on that," Jennifer said, voice warm. "So how are you? What do you do?"

"Um. That's... complicated. Part of what I don't want to talk about over the phone. The part I can talk about... well. I work for Stark Industries, mostly."

"Oh, sweet! Does that mean you've ever met Iron Man then? Or Ms Potts? Or any of the Avengers?"

Bruce found himself smiling at the excitement in her voice. "Yeah, I know Tony. All of the above, actually."

"Oh my god. You work in Stark Tower... Avengers Tower, I mean. Am I right? Yes?"

"Yes. I work in the Tower," he agreed, smile widening. "Actually, I live there too... one of the perks of the job."

"Oh my fucking god. That is _so cool_. Fuck. You're making me sound like I'm a teenager again, Bruce. I'm supposedly a mature, super-serious lawyer and right now I sound like... like..."

"Like someone having a fan-gasm?" Bruce asked, amused, remembering a term Darcy had used a couple of days ago.

"_Yes_," Jennifer exclaimed, and laughed. "Holy fuck, Bruce, it is _so good_ to hear from you again. We definitely need to get together as soon as we can. Coffee somewhere maybe?"

"I would love that. Maybe... would you like to visit me here?" he offered shyly. "We could pick up coffee and bring it back to my place? I have to admit I'm not very big on the whole talking about my private life out in public thing."

"Sure, that sounds great. When?"

"Well, my schedule is usually pretty flexible, which I'm guessing yours is not, so how about you let me know when is good for you?"

"That sounds good. I'll check my schedule and email you a list of times and dates that I'm free, how does that sound?"

"Excellent. Listen, there was something else I wanted to ask you," he said, and flushed a little. "I'm embarrassed to admit that it's kind of the ulterior motive behind the phone call."

"Oh? What's that?" she asked, voice cooling just the slightest bit.

"It's nothing bad. It's just... remember before you headed back to California, Betty and I were talking about how I'd never had a real family Thanksgiving, not a good one anyway, so we were planning to have one for ourselves, since it would be just her and I that year..."

"I remember," Jennifer said, voice warming again with fondness.

"Neither of us had ever roasted a turkey before. So you wrote out instructions for us, including a recipe for the stuffing... a family recipe..."

"I remember that," she agreed, sounding surprised but voice going even warmer. "You'd been talking about it... you remembered it from the one semi-decent Thanksgiving you'd ever had, at Grandma Banner's place, and it was the same recipe my mother always made so I recognized your description of it, and wrote out how to make it."

"Yeah. And Betty and I made it with our turkey, and it was the best Thanksgiving I ever had. Well. I'm going to be roasting a turkey for a dinner party with friends and I really want to make that stuffing again. Do you still...?"

"Still remember how to make it? Of course I do," she exclaimed. "Have a pen and paper handy? Or I can email you the instructions..."

"I've got pen and paper," he said, leaning over to snatch up one of the notepads he kept scattered around the place. He could always take notes electronically anywhere in the tower, but he had a fondness for pen and paper, even if – or perhaps especially because – it drove Tony up the wall.

"Right. Okay, a batch of this is enough to stuff a 10 pound turkey, so adjust amounts accordingly depending on the weight of the bird. To start with, you'll need..."

Bruce leaned on the table, receiver tucked between shoulder and ear, and took careful notes, a warm feeling of contented happiness filling him as his pen scratched across the page, listening to his cousin's voice.


	4. Clint and Natasha

"I was thinking Kiev," Natasha commented, watching as Clint frowned and scribbled down a grocery list in his chicken-scratch handwriting.

"Nah. Vilnius," Clint said, glancing up at her before frowning back down at his list.

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "First or second time?"

"First time, of course. Why would I care about the second time? That was _Sitwell_," he pointed out. "First time was Phil."

She sighed. "I know you miss him, but..."

"...I'm only hurting myself by dwelling, blah blah blah, yeah, I know, my therapist points that out regularly. I don't care. Vilnius. First time."

She smiled fondly at him. "All right. But only if you promise to use a nice cut of lamb."

He looked up at her again, flashing her an amused grin, looking his old self again for a moment. "What, like I could find overly well-aged mutton in New York?"

"You probably could, knowing you," she said, one corner of her lips twitching upward slightly.

"I probably could," he agreed, lowering his head again. "But since we're not stuck in a safehouse in a foreign country over the holidays with both local law enforcement and a hostile intelligence organization trying to find us, and I'm making this for friends, I'll use lamb. And vegetables that aren't either canned or dried. Will you make the salad?" he asked, looking questioningly at her.

"I'll make the salad," she agreed, thinking fondly of that Christmas, years before, when the then newly-formed Delta Force found themselves having to make do with what was on hand in a rarely-used safehouse to put together a festive meal for themselves. It had turned out surprisingly delicious. Clint had managed to turn out a reasonably tasty stew made of the last of some overly elderly mutton that was the only meat left in the freezer. Natasha had sprouted some beans, combining them with walnuts and dried cherries to make an acceptable salad. And Phil... he'd made bread, despite their lack of yeast, by mixing together flour and water and leaving it out on the counter overnight to catch some wild yeast and foam into a sponge.

"Are you putting sourdough bread on the list?" she asked.

Clint shook his head. "No," he said shortly, and then shrugged. "It wouldn't be the same."

"Neither will the stew or salad."

"I know that," he snapped, then set down his list and dragged both hands down his face. "I know," he repeated quietly. "Nothing will ever be the same. He's dead. I know that. But of all the Christmases I've ever had, that one was probably the best one."

Natasha smiled sadly. "For me, too," she agreed, and got up to give him a hug before picking up and scanning over his list. "Walnuts," she said, handing it back to him.

"Walnuts," he agreed, and added it to the list. "So... you inviting anyone to the party?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't have many people I'd consider friends, and pretty much all of them are already on the guest list. You?"

"I'm thinking of inviting Bobbi. She dropped off the radar for a while around the time SHIELD fell, but I got an 'I'm still alive' contact from her a couple weeks ago through one of our email drops. And I'm at least 90% certain she isn't HYDRA. Well, maybe 80%."

Natasha's eyebrows rose slightly, and she smiled just the tiniest bit. "I always liked Bobbi. Never understood what she saw in you though."

Clint scowled at her. "Shut up."

She grinned, then tilted her head to one side, looking thoughtful. "Huh. I just thought of someone I could invite. I don't think he'd come, but I might see if I can get word to him anyway."

Clint gave her a questioning look. "Anyone I know?"

"Yes. But I can't tell you who."

"Or then you'd have to kill me?"

"Or then I'd have to kill you," she agreed.

He frowned in thought for a moment. "Is he a lying liar who lies and only has one eye?"

She grinned. "Might be. Could be. I can neither confirm nor deny."

Clint snorted and grinned back. "I'd love both to see his face when he gets the invitation, and to see Stark's face if he actually accepts and shows up."

"Why else do you think I'm planning on inviting him?" she asked archly.


	5. Steve

"Something smells good," Sam called out from the hallway. "What are you making?"

"I'm stewing chicken," Steve called back. "How was your walk?"

"Good. We went and looked at the tree at Rockefeller Centre, and then walked around Central Park for a while," Sam answered, as he and Bucky came into the kitchen in stocking feet, having left their snow-covered boots by the apartment door.

Bucky, head ducked a little and as silent as he often was, walked over to stand behind Steve, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his head against his back. Steve yelped and flinched a little from where Bucky's metal arm pressed against him, its winter-chilled metal only kept from bare skin by a single thin layer of fabric. He could tell without turning to look that Bucky was smirking at his reaction. "Damn that's cold," Steve said.

"It's pretty chilly out there," Sam agreed. "I'm going to make some cocoa – you want to join us?"

"Sure, count me in," Steve agreed, giving a final stir to the oversized pot and setting the spoon aside before putting the lid back on it. As he moved away to leave room at the stove for Sam to put a milk-filled saucepan on an element, Bucky moved with him, still clinging onto him.

"Rough day?" Steve asked softly. Bucky nodded his head, but didn't speak, just clinging silently to him. Steve wrapped his own arms over top of Bucky's, his hands squeezing lightly in reassurance, and the two of them just stood quietly together for a minute.

Bucky finally raised his head, moving just enough to rest his chin on Steve's shoulder and breathing in deeply. "Is that... is that your mother's chicken?" he asked, a surprised, hopeful tone to his voice.

Steve grinned. "Yeah, it is. And you don't want to know how much walking around I had to do to find a butcher who carried proper stewing chickens and not just those tasteless broilers that's all most grocery stores seem to stock these days."

Sam looked up from stirring the cocoa he was making to grin at Steve. "Now you're sounding like my grandmother, complaining about how nothing tastes like it used to."

Steve smiled. "Well, it doesn't. There's been seventy years of changes to what varieties of things are most commonly available in stores, there's tons of things available now that were pretty much unheard of or only for people with deep pockets back when Bucky and I were kids, not to mention all the different seasonings, preservatives, and additives in everything. I'm not saying all the changes are necessarily _bad_, I kind of like the variety of what I can choose to eat now, but the changes are definitely noticeable. Pretty much everything is different, whether it's that tasteless foam most people call white bread these days or a glass of milk or a banana."

Sam laughed. "Now you're sounding like some foodie hipster."

"Don't ever look at his Instagram account," Bucky spoke up.

Sam paused in his stirring to turn and look at Steve, raising an eyebrow. "You have an Instagram account," he said flatly. "Since when?"

"Since Darcy," Bucky said, smiling now himself. "Also Twitter and Facebook."

"But no Tumblr. She said I should stay off of Tumblr if I value my sanity," Steve said. "Something about 'RPF' and fanart? _He_ made the mistake of looking," Steve added, jerking his head sideways to indicate Bucky.

Bucky buried his face against Steve's shoulder again, though this time he was laughing as he did so. Sam grinned at the pair of them. "What has been seen cannot be unseen," Sam said dryly as he took a trio of mugs down out of the cupboard, which just made Bucky laugh even harder.

Steve grinned as well, glad to see the change in Bucky's mood. Sam just shook his head and dumped a handful of multi-coloured mini marshmallows in each mug before pouring in the steaming cocoa. Bucky released his grip on Steve to go and pick up two of them, passing one off to Steve before sipping at the other.

"This need tending or can we go sit down somewhere more comfortable?" Sam asked, nodding at the pot of stew.

"It's pretty much done," Steve said, turning to lead the way to the living room. "Just needs to simmer a littler while longer. Then for the party tomorrow it just needs to be reheated before serving."

"Can I make dumplings?" Bucky asked, looking hopeful.

Steve grinned at him as he took a seat on the couch. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Bucky nodded, and smiled shyly back at Steve as he sat down beside him. "Haven't made them since that last Christmas just after Pearl Harbour."

"I remember," Steve said softly. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to make stewed chicken," he said, then turned to explain to Sam. "It was the last Christmas we spent together in New York; Bucky went off to training camp in the New Year, and by the next Christmas he was overseas."

"And you were a show girl," Bucky said, grinning.

"And I was a show girl," Steve agreed, nodding and making a face. "And then we were both overseas, and we were lucky to even have enough ration packs half the time, much less any real food."

"There was that dinner that Stark treated the Commandos to in London that one time," Bucky said.

Steve laughed. "I'd forgotten that. I have no idea what that roast was. Horse, maybe."

"I don't know, I think Falsworth said it might be venison, but it was gamey enough that I'm thinking goat. It was still better than rations."

"That wasn't a very high bar to beat. Remember the D Ration chocolate?"

"Oh _fuck_, don't make me remember that stuff when I'm enjoying real cocoa," Bucky exclaimed, then looked at Sam. "It was designed to be as inedible as possible, since it was supposed to be eaten only in emergencies."

"I've heard about it," Sam said. "Riley was into military history. He said something about it being designed to taste only a little better than a boiled potato?"

Bucky and Steve looked at each other for a long moment, faces twitching through a series of micro-expressions, then both turned back to Sam. "Sounds about right," Steve agreed.

"If the potato was made of sawdust and glue," Bucky contributed. "You'd break your teeth if you tried to actually bite into it."

"Yeah, to eat it you had to shave lumps off with a knife," Steve agreed. "And it didn't taste all that good. Maybe a little better than some of the stuff civilians were having to eat, but not by much."

"The bread was pretty awful," Bucky said thoughtfully. "People cut their flour with all kinds of things to make it stretch."

"According to Riley the Germans fed their prisoners bread that was made with sawdust and chopped straw."

Bucky made a face. "That would explain the taste," he agreed. "And the texture. I'm not sure which I hated more, the bread or the barley soup."

"Damn. I actually forgot you'd been a POW before you were a commando," Sam said, and shook his head. "Man, Riley would have loved to meet you two. Probably have driven you up the wall with all the questions he'd want to ask about what it was actually like."

"I think I'd have liked meeting him too," Steve said, and both Bucky and Sam had to smile at the sincerity in his voice.


	6. Tony

Pepper woke in the middle of the night to find the bed empty except for herself. "Jarvis? Where's Tony?" she asked sleepily, suspecting he'd snuck off down to his workshop again.

"_Sir is in the kitchen, Ms Potts_," the AI replied.

"Making coffee?"

"_Baking._"

That woke her up. She sat up in bed. "Baking?" she repeated. "Baking _what?_"

"_Cookies, I believe._"

"Oh, god. Tell me he's not about to set anything on fire."

"_Actually, he seems to be doing quite well, apart from a small accident when measuring the flour,_" the AI reported, actually sounding mildly surprised.

Pepper sat in silence for a moment. "This I have to see," she finally said, and climbed out of bed, sliding her feet into her waiting slippers, and snagging her robe before heading downstairs to the rarely used kitchen. Tony was standing at the kitchen island, wearing boxers and an undershirt along with a liberal dusting of flour, and was rolling out some pale-coloured dough on a large cutting board.

"Tony? What are you up to?" Pepper asked as she walked over.

Tony looked up and beamed at her. "Pep! I'm making shortbread cookies."

"Shortbread," she said blankly, and looked around the kitchen, at the opened bags of flour and sugar, sticks of butter, and the box of baking soda lying tipped over on one side, white powder spilling out of the open end. "_Why_ are you making shortbread in the middle of the night, Tony?"

He shrugged, looking self-conscious. "Well, I was thinking about how you said that a pot-luck was an opportunity to share something special with friends. And I think that stocking the bar and having some appetizers catered wasn't really anything all that special. So... shortbread!"

Pepper found herself smiling at the enthusiastic way he said the final word while gesturing at the rolled-out dough. She moved to sit on one of the stools at the island. "Shortbread is special?"

"Shortbread is special," he agreed, looking down as he set aside the rolling pin and picked up a round cookie-cutter. He frowned for a moment, glancing once at her before be began cutting rounds of dough. "You know that there was a real Jarvis before there was an AI Jarvis."

"Your parent's butler," she agreed. "Edward?"

"Edwin. Edwin Jarvis. He looked after me a lot. There was this one year..." he paused, and turned away to open and shut several drawers, finally making a noise of triumph when he found a frosting spatula in one of them. He grabbed a cookie sheet and started transferring the rounds of dough onto it with the spatula. "There was this one year, my first or second at MIT. I came home for the holidays only to find that my parents had decamped to California to enjoy the warmer weather there, not due back until some time in the new year. Pretty much all the servants had either gone with them or been given the time off, so there was just Jarvis and the cook left in the mansion, and the cook was only working a half day on Christmas Eve before leaving to spend a week with her family, so really it was going to be just me and Jarvis there."

"And you and he made cookies?" Pepper guessed, leaning her chin on one hand.

Tony grinned and pointed the spatula at her. "Bingo. Shortbread cookies. It's a recipe so simple even I can't fuck it up. Only four ingredients, unless you want to get fancy with it. Three if you're a purist." He picked up a fork and used it to prick the tops of the cookies. "We made shortbread on Christmas eve, and on Christmas day there was a stocking and presents for me to open, then we went out in the yard and made snow forts and had a snowball fight, just the two of us. And then a turkey dinner, which the cook had prepared the day before, so that all Jarvis had needed to do was put the turkey in the oven at the right time and then heat the vegetable dishes. It was one of the best Christmases I can remember ever having, growing up."

He opened the oven and slid the cookie sheet into it. "Twelve minute timer, Jarvis."

"_Of course, Sir._"

Pepper watched as Tony started to roll out more dough, and eyed the volume of dough in the huge mixing bowl at Tony's elbow. "I'll make us some coffee," she said, rising to her feet.

"You don't have to stay up, I can handle this."

She smiled, and stopped to brush a kiss over his cheek before continuing on to the coffee maker. "I know. But I'd like to stay up and help anyway."

The happy smile he gave her in response made her feel warm inside, and reminded her just why she loved him.


	7. Arrivals

Maria poked her head into the kitchen on the common level, where several of the Avengers were gathered putting finishing touches on their dishes before heading upstairs to the penthouse. Steve was standing at the stove, leaning against Bucky's side as the dark-haired man dropped spoonfuls of a thick dough into a bubbling pot of stewed chicken. Sam was removing a casserole dish full of roasted vegetables from the wall oven. Natasha was pouring dressing over a huge bowl of salad, while Clint was stirring the contents of one of two large crock pots he'd set up earlier in the day.

"Everything good here?" she asked, and received smiles and nods and a yes ma'am from them all. "Excellent. I brought a serving cart up from the corporate dining room downstairs, it's out here in the hallway for when you're ready to bring everything upstairs.

Bucky looked at the clock on the wall as he set the lid back on the pot. "Dumplings need to steam for about a quarter of an hour."

"We can all be ready by then," Natasha said, glancing around the room to check on the progress of everyone's dishes.

"Good. I'm headed upstairs, I'll let them know you'll all be up shortly," Maria said, and headed back to the elevators.

She could smell roasting turkey as soon as the elevator doors opened. She checked on the living room first, where Pepper was setting out and uncovering the trays of appetizers that the caterer had delivered earlier in the day, and then headed to the kitchen, where Bruce was just taking one of the three enormous turkeys he'd roasted out of the oven. He'd needed to use three different kitchens throughout the residential floors in order to have enough oven space for them all; the other two turkeys were already sitting on platters on the counter, Tony carving the first of them. Tony glanced up and smiled as Maria entered, before turning his attention back to his work.

"Everything going okay?" he asked.

"Yes. The rest of the Avengers and their in-house guests should be arriving in fifteen minutes or so, and the non-resident guests should be arriving not long afterwards."

"What's the final headcount going to be?"

"A little over a dozen."

"_Actually, it will be closer to two dozen,_" Jarvis spoke up. "_There have been some last-minute additions to the guest list._"

Maria frowned, concerned. "Last minute additions? I though the guest list had been finalized yesterday."

"_Mr Rhodes and Ms Morse have both asked to bring a plus one, and Ms Potts and I managed to have Dr Selvig's visa problems cleared up so that he's able to attend after all. His plane touched down an hour ago; Happy agreed to meet him and they are currently both en route to the Tower._"

"Rhodey's bringing a plus one? He did mention something about a new girlfriend the last time we spoke," Tony observed.

"That's still only three more people than I have on my list," Maria pointed out, eyes narrowing.

"_I may have extended an invitation to a friend of my own,_" Jarvis said. "_He is also accompanied. I assure you all that all expected guests have been quite thoroughly vetted._"

Tony's eyebrows lifted in surprise, while Maria's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Before they could question Jarvis further, the elevator doors opened, and Thor, Jane and Darcy entered the room, all three of them carrying large white bakery boxes and still dressed in the outerwear they'd worn while travelling to the tower from Jane and Darcy's apartment. By the time they'd been told where to leave their coats and set out the dessert they'd brought, the elevator was opening again as the rest of the Avengers arrived, Steve pushing the large catering cart that their assortment of dishes were being transported on. The living and dining areas were filled with conversation as everyone moved around, setting out their own contributions and exclaiming over what each other had brought.

Happy and Eric Selvig arrived next, Jane and Darcy greeting him loudly and enthusiastically. He'd brought a large plum pudding with hard sauce all the way from England as his own contribution to the feast, while Happy was carrying a covered bowl full of chicken Caesar salad.

"Rhodey!" Tony suddenly exclaimed, face lighting up in a wide grin as he hurried toward the elevators to greet his friend, then stopped short for a moment before resuming walking, smile widening even further. "And oh my god you're brought your _mother!_ It's a pleasure to see you again, Mrs Rhodes!"

"Now Tony, you know I've always said to call me Roberta," the older woman said severely as she took his hands in her own. Tony grinned and bent down to kiss her on both cheeks.

"Roberta," he agreed. "I'd have invited you myself if I'd known you were going to be in town. I thought you were still out in California?"

"I am," she said placidly, as she shed her coat and passed it to her son. "But this year James and I are spending Christmas with my brother-in-law Joshua and his family here in New York. I've been here for two days already."

"Well, I am very pleased that you were able to come to our little party then."

"We brought salmon croquettes," Rhodey interrupted, lifting a bulging canvas shopping bag hanging from his wrist.

"Ooo... I love those! They'll need to be reheated, right?" Tony asked.

"I'll take care of it," Roberta said firmly, reaching out to take the bag from Rhodey. "Just point me at your kitchen. You can pour me a drink while I do. White wine, please."

Tony grinned, and after pointing the pair toward the kitchen, trusting Rhodey to make any necessary introductions, headed to the bar to start pouring drinks. Clint came over and gave him a hand, mixing cocktails and busing them around the room to their recipients. Everyone was in the living room now, snacking on appetizers and chatting.

"_Ms Morse and guest are on their way up from the lobby, Mr Barton,_" Jarvis said.

"Awesome. Hand me a bottle of wine, Tony, Bobbi and I will want to toast to our continued survival. It's a thing we do."

Tony laughed, but handed over a bottle and glasses. Clint started towards the elevator just as it opened, dispensing rather more than just two people. A statuesque brunette accompanied by a shorter, scruffier man was at the front of the group, already peeling out of their coats. A very tall, muscular black man was visible at the back, a cluster of smaller people crowded together in front of him. As they exited the elevator and spread out, a balding man in the middle of the group came into view. Everyone jumped as Clint dropped the bottle he'd been carrying, the sound of it shattering on the floor cutting through and ending all conversations.

"_Coulson!?_" Clint exclaimed in the silence that followed, going pale as a ghost in shock.

Phil smiled crookedly, and lifted a bag. "I brought sourdough rolls?" he said worriedly.


	8. The Party

Clint stood on the balcony, his hands closed in a white-knuckled grip around the railing, staring blindly out over the darkened city, ignoring the cold, the snow sifting down, his own lack of a suitable coat. He'd turned and marched out right after Phil had spoken, unable to deal with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling when surrounded by so many people.

He wasn't at all surprised to hear the door to the balcony open and close, the noise of the loud, half-shouted conversations going on inside swelling and fading in volume as it did. Not loud enough to cover the sound of shoes on the metal floor of the balcony, coming up behind him.

Phil, still wearing his long woollen coat and scarf, came to a stop beside Clint, folding his hands together on top of the rail. "I'm sorry," he said.

Clint remained silent for a moment. "I'm not sure an apology is enough to fix this," he said, voice rough. "Sir."

Phil gave a single sharp nod, his head bending and shoulders drooping a little. "I'd be surprised if it was," he agreed. "But I felt it might be a good starting point."

Clint snorted, and found himself smiling slightly despite how confused and hurt he was feeling right now. "We thought you were dead. _I_ thought you were dead, and all because of something I'd helped plan and execute."

"I _was_ dead," Phil said calmly. "For several days, in fact."

That startled Clint. He turned and looked fully at Phil. "Really?"

"Really. Fury took... extraordinary measures, to bring me back. It messed me up, and just as I thought I was finally making sense of it... well, HYDRA happened. I've been kind of busy ever since, and... being officially dead was a useful state to be in. No one thinks to look for a dead man. Very few people were aware of my return."

"And you didn't think I was someone that could be trusted to know," Clint said flatly, shifting his weight away from Phil.

"No! I trust you. I've always trusted you, Clint," Phil said, reaching out to catch Clint's wrist with one hand before he could move away. "But this was not something I could just... just phone you or email you and say. It needed to be face to face. But first I was trying to figure out what had happened to me, and then we were betrayed by people we'd thought we could trust, after which we were on the run, in hiding, and... well. It's been one thing after another with barely a pause for breath. This is the first real opportunity I've had to meet up with you – with _all_ of you – and let you know what's been going on. I almost didn't take it, except someone decided to lean on me and insist that it was past time I let all of you know. He threatened to out me to you all on his own if I didn't do it soon," Phil said ruefully, then turned to look at Clint, his voice dropping. "Telling _you_ wasn't a hard sell. It was having to tell everyone else that scared me."

"Oh," Clint said, and looked down to where Phil's hand was still holding his wrist. He swallowed. "I missed you, you know." He released the railing, and turned over his hand.

"I missed you too," Phil said, and moved his hand to lace his fingers with Clint's. "More than I was prepared to admit even to myself. I... Clint. I know in the past, it never seemed the right time... first you were my subordinate, and then you had Natasha, and.."

Clint smiled. "And then you had that whatever-it-was with someone you wouldn't let either of us meet..."

Phil nodded. "...And then you married Bobbi. And by the time that fell apart..."

"...you had Audrey. And then everything went to shit."

"And then everything went to shit," Phil agreed tiredly.

"I'm not your subordinate any more."

"No, you're not."

"Audrey still thinks you're dead?"

"It's better that way. She may find out some day, but by then I'm pretty sure she'll have moved on. I can't expect her to wait when she doesn't know, and I can't let her know without putting her in danger."

Clint nodded, and stood silently staring down at their linked hands for a couple of minutes, then smiled slightly, turning to face more towards Phil, releasing the railing with his other hand and instead leaning that elbow on it. "Can I kiss you, Sir?"

"I'd like that," Phil said, voice light but wavering slightly. "And you don't have to call me Sir."

"What if I like to?" Clint asked, even as he leaned in closer.

Phil smiled. "Then I suppose I have no objections," he said.

Clint's lips pressed lightly to his at first. Phil's clasp on his hand tightened, and he made a small appreciative noise, reaching up to touch his fingertips to Clint's cheek. Clint moaned and kissed him more firmly, then suddenly backed off as there was another burst of noise from inside. He was grinning, and Phil's own cheeks had reddened with something more than cold.

"We should go back inside," Clint said, voice rough. "It's kind of cold out here."

"You don't have a coat," Phil agreed. "And I hear there's lamb stew and sprouted bean salad."

"And sourdough bread," Clint said, grinning as they released their grip to turn and walk back toward the balcony doors. "How did you know to bring it?"

"I had a tip off as to what you and Natasha were planning to make."

"Maria?"

"No."

Clint hummed thoughtfully, and changed the subject. "I hear Stark baked cookies."

"Are they edible?"

"We can find out," Clint said, as he opened the door and gestured Phil inside.

The noise turned out to have been due to Fury's arrival at the party, which both men were disappointed to have missed. Even without his leather coat and eye patch Fury managed to look dangerous where he stood in the centre of the room surrounded by Avengers, his thumbs hooked in his belt as he stared down Tony Stark. As they entered he turned to look at them, and smiled. "Director Coulson," he said. "Good to see you again."

Phil nodded at him. "Nick."

"Just Marcus these days," he said.

"Wait wait _wait_," Tony interrupted, stepping between the two men with a hand lifted towards each of them. "_Director_ Coulson? Since when?"

"Since I resigned the position after the Helicarrier incident, Stark," Fury said patiently. "For someone who now seems to be trying to privatize intelligence gathering, you seem to be more than a little behind the times," he added, eyebrows raising slightly. "Though as you're not _my_ problem any more..." he made a dismissive gesture and turned away, picking out Natasha in the larger group. "Any chance of a drink at this shindig you've dragged me to?" he asked her.

Natasha smiled, and tilted her head in the direction of the bar, both of them heading that way and ignoring Tony's sputtered protests behind them.

"The fuck with it," Tony finally exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Okay, let's get the eating portion of this evening started... I don't know about the rest of you, but I am starving_."_

It was good, after that, everyone crowding around to serve themselves plates full of food and taking seats wherever they could be found, groupings changing every time someone went to get themselves another helping or a drink. Phil introduced the Avengers and most of his team – Skye, Jemma, Leo, Mack, Bobbi, Lance, and Antoine, the rest having had other commitments for the night – to each other. Steve and Bucky were soon deep in conversation with Trip. Bruce disappeared at one point and came back upstairs with his cousin Jennifer, who'd arrived late due to a court date than had run long, and proudly introduced her to everyone. The assortment of scientists clustered in a loudly talkative group for a while, before breaking apart into smaller groups again. Roberta Rhodes somehow ended up in a lengthy conversation with Fury that had him breaking into loud, delighted laughter. Sam and Rhodey bonded over their shared experiences as air-men. Clint and Bobbi eventually had their toast to their continued survival, one which everyone in the room joined them in. Mack, Leo and Bucky ended up in a corner of the room, Mack looking on attentively as Leo examined Bucky's left arm, stuttering as he tried to ask questions about it but too enthusiastic to be frustrated by his own inability to find words, Bucky looking bemused as Mack worked as interlocutor for the scientist.

Tony found himself leaning against the wall near where Pepper was sitting, neatly eating one of the tarts Thor had baked. "This was a great idea," he told her. "Thanks, Pep."

She smiled warmly at him as she set the half-eaten tart back down on her plate. "You're welcome. Also, you have cookie crumbs in your goatee."

"Whoops," he said, and brushed it clean, then looked around the room at the various clusters of people there. "Did you know about Phil being alive?" he asked, nodding towards where Phil was seated in an armchair on the far side of the room, talking and laughing with Maria and Natasha while Clint perched on the arm of the chair, he and Phil eating from a shared plate of the assorted desserts.

"No, I was as surprised as you," she told him.

"Who invited him? I'd say Natasha except it was her that invited Fury. Unless maybe it was either Maria or Fury that did...?"

Jarvis made a quiet throat-clearing sound from a nearby speaker. "_Actually, Sir, Director Coulson and his team apart from Ms Morse and Mr Hunter are my guests._"

Tony straightened, look surprised. "Really? You knew he was still alive and didn't tell me?"

"_I would have if something had come up where you needed to know, Sir._" Jarvis said stiffly.

Tony laughed, looking delighted. "I trust you to make your own decisions, Jarvis... even if one of them is to sometimes keep secrets from me. How long have you known?"

"_Several months. He asked me to maintain his secret, and I judged it best to cooperate with him, while working on convincing him to reveal himself to you and the rest of the team. Was I wrong?_"

Tony leaned back against the wall again, and watched Phil and Clint for a long moment, a soft smile crossing his face as he took in the way the two men were looking at each other. "Nah. I think you probably did exactly the right thing."


End file.
